


One Of Us

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 1999-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CI5 loses a member after a mission. Warning: It depends on how you read it, but this could easily be read as a deathfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as an 'end of an era' fic, not a deathfic, but as so often happens, what was in my head came out differently once put into words. Two different people read it, and told me it was a deathfic, but they had differing opinions on who actually died, which I thought was pretty cool. So, despite swearing blind that I would never write a deathfic, I'm leaving it as it is.

My mind is encompassed by the darkness of space, made claustrophobic by the absence of stars. It has always been this way.

But now, something interrupts my eternal dreams of nothingness; there is a white speck moving ever closer. Or maybe it is I that am in motion.

The white speck takes on a little colour, and eventually form. Curiosity overwhelms me, and for the first time in an eternity I find myself drawn to something other than myself.

As it draws nearer – or do I approach? – it takes the shape of a chessboard, with four pieces standing in the middle. The board is slowly spinning, and as I land, feeling the smooth surface with feet that I had forgotten I had, the four pieces resolve into statues.

I approach the statues and become aware of music playing faintly. The statues are people, standing as if frozen in time, each on a black square, facing one another, facing the centre.

The most imposing figure is a man with steel grey hair, standing proud and dominant. Opposite him is a beautiful petite woman who seems self-confident and assured. To the girl's right stands a man who is tall and slim with dark hair and silver-green eyes. To her left is a stockier man with brown, spiky hair and grey eyes.

I want to know more about each of them, want to know who they are. To me, the girl is the least threatening, and I approach her. I look into her brown eyes, and realise that this woman should never be underestimated. She has ambition, and power within herself. The music now has voices, and one pure, clear voice sings above the rest. I make out only three lines of the words, the rest swallowed by the accompaniment.

'One of us is trying...'

I move to the silver haired man opposite,

'One of us is lying....'

This man holds inside him a lot of passion and pain. Behind the mask of indifference hides the sorrow of death, the regret of killing, and the determination of passion.

'One of us is dying...'

I move to the one with the silver-green eyes and see that he, too, is wearing a mask that locks away his feelings, but this one is made of ruthlessness and cruelty. Here is a hard-edged man who takes pain in his stride, and yet one who is running away from himself.

I am mesmerised by this man, and only move on from him when the crystal voice of the singer insists on her words being heard. I move to the last statue.

'One of us is lonely...'

No masks are worn by this man, only a thin veil. His heart and soul are evident in his eyes, and though he tries to run from his closely guarded pain, he cannot help but revel in it.

'One of us is only...

Waiting for a call...'

I draw away from the four of them, and leave them to turn in space, my curiosity satisfied for now. I return to the velvety darkness of my dreams, and, for a time, forget about them.

*****

'One of us is lying...'

Malone met them as the plane came into RAF Manston and discharged the three gurneys complete with their medical and air force entourage.

He presented the cool, professional face of the CI5 commander as he watched Curtis, Keel and Backus wheeled urgently past, blood soaked bandages covering their unconscious bodies.

Inside, though, he hated himself for putting them in the situation that had put them here. The politics and lies of the situation were out of his control, or so he tried to persuade himself. But deep down, he knew he could have called a halt to it at any time. Could have pulled them out, could have told them what was really happening.

He hadn't, and he had to live with that. Would live with that.

*****

'One of us is trying...'

Backup sat up in bed, watching the three patients she was sharing a ward with. A big explosion in the city had left the hospital with no space, and she had been put in with her two male colleagues and another young woman.

She shivered as she looked at Sam, in the bed next to her, reliving the moment when the three of them were gunned down by people who were supposed to have been on their side.

She had been lucky, as the three bullets had caught her leg, side and shoulder. Three more scars she would live with. She was determined that she would be back in action, a little more battered, a little bit older, and a lot wiser. But back she would be, refusing to allow a bad case to deter her from her ambitions.

Neither Sam nor Chris had regained consciousness in the few days since they had been there. She felt as if she were in a mausoleum, and the nurse had explained that they would move her out when they had room elsewhere, but Backup had dismissed her. She would rather be here.

The doctors did not think that either of her colleagues would survive, and in some ways she hoped that Sam, at least, would not. Only one bullet had hit him, scraping along the side of his head. Skull fragments had embedded themselves in his brain; and although they had removed them, he would almost definitely be brain-damaged. Just like the girl in the bed opposite her.

The girl, not much younger than herself, had been in a persistent vegetative state since a car crash some months ago. Her mother was there every day, and chatted with Backup sometimes. Her daughter, Paula, had been popular, visitors streaming in just after the accident, but as the weeks passed, the visitors became fewer, until now she was her daughter's only visitor.

In the fourth bed, Chris moaned slightly, and Backup glanced over. He did that occasionally, and each time she hoped he might wake up, but he never did. Five bullets had stitched a line from left hip to right shoulder; how he had managed to live so far, was a mystery to everyone.

Backup sighed as she sank back against her pillows, and hoped that Paula's mother would be by soon.

*****

'One of us is dying...'

Sam sat in the doctor's office as he broke the news to him. The doctor's words washed over him, but he refused to let them sink in. Denied it all.

He had worked hard to get his body back into shape, and everyone kept telling him how lucky he had been to survive, his mind intact, against all the odds. But now, after all that, there was still a fragment of bone lodged in his brain.

He had known something was wrong when the headaches had continued, despite the reassurances that they would fade with time. But he had refused to acknowledge them.

He heard parts of what the doctor was saying, that though it was inoperable, he could live a normal life. That so long as he avoided sending his blood pressure up, avoid stress, he would be okay. But that tiny piece of bone was a bomb, just waiting for the right circumstance to set it off.

He could no longer do what he had been born to do.

*****

'One of us is lonely...'

Chris stared above him, his only view being the ceiling, the wall and the girl in the bed next to him, just as it had been for so long now. He couldn't wait until he could sit up again. Two comatose patients now occupied the beds opposite him, since Sam and Backup had both been discharged.

They had told him that he, too, would be out in a week or two, and that being home would be better for him. He suspected they just wanted his bed.

Paula's mother talked to him occasionally, but he was not as receptive as Backup had been to the woman's inane, lonely chattering.

Backup visited once a day, usually right after she visited Sam at home. The strain showed on her pale face; she was supposed to be resting at home. Chris had told her not to over-exert herself, but she insisted.

What remained of his family was in the States, still, and nobody was sufficiently close enough to feel the urge to fly over. He wished his mother was still alive; she would have been here, telling him that everything would be okay.

But they were all healing, they would all be back to work soon, and everything would be okay, wouldn't it?

He wished Sam would visit.

*****

'One of us is only

Waiting for a call...'

June sat by her daughter's bedside, patient and lonely as always, but this time head bowed by the decision she must make.

It would be twelve months since the accident next week, and it had been suggested to her that she should consider switching the life-support machines off. It had been intimated the hospital could no longer afford to keep Paula.

She had seen many patients come and go in the room, but the three victims of the shooting had given her some hope. She had enjoyed chatting with Tina, a young woman with so much life and strength; it had been infectious, and June had felt some of it bolster her own failing strength of mind.

Sam, the poor man they had said would end up brain-damaged, a charming man once he had recovered somewhat, had shown her that anything was possible. And Chris, the man still lying in the next bed, well, he was miserable at the moment. hen Tina and Sam were still there, though, he had been laughing despite the agony he must have been in, optimistic and hopeful, lightening the atmosphere of death that always seemed to linger here.

She looked over at Chris, who was staring at the ceiling as usual. He must have felt her eyes on him, and frowned when he saw her tears. She hadn't realised that she had been crying.

He smiled at her, and told her it would be okay. Whatever happened, it would be okay.

And her mind was made up.

*****

'Staring at the ceiling....'

Sam lay on the sofa, thinking. He would have to leave CI5, and he was dreading telling Malone. Even more, he dreaded telling Chris.

He had not been able to face his partner since he had been given the earth-shattering news.

He decided that he would rather quit than be invalided out. He would tell Chris that he had simply had enough. Maybe that would stop the American from coming after him. Maybe he would go travelling.

Get away from everything.

Run away.

*****

'Feeling stupid

Feeling small...'

Chris sat on his sofa still in shock.

Sam had been to visit him for the first time since the Englishman had left the hospital. And dropped his bombshell.

Leaving CI5? How could he? He had always thought that he and Sam would be partners to the bitter end, whatever that end may be.

But Sam was on his way to the airport even now, and there was nothing left that Chris could say to make him change his mind. The thought of leaving CI5 himself had vaguely crossed his mind, but there was too much he still needed to do.

He just wished he could understand his partner's – ex-partner's - decision. He understood the words that came out of Sam's mouth, but not the bitter sorrow that was there, naked, in his eyes.

Backup came out of his kitchen bearing soup. She told him it would be okay, that it would all work out, that they would get through this. That it was just one chapter closed, another about to be opened.

Chris could not bring himself to believe her.

*****

'Wishing he had never left at all...'

Sam sat on his bedroll and stared at the magnificent sunset over the desert, with the ocean far in the distance.

He wished Chris could see this with him. Mount Sinai, one of the most beautiful sights in the world and a Mecca for backpackers the world over.

He wished he were still with Chris, Backup and even Malone; it was a homesickness that would never leave him.

One of the group of young backpackers behind him reached over to offer him a joint. He almost refused it, but changed his mind. Sod his blood pressure.

He handed the joint back, and enjoyed the mellow rush from the pot. He could no longer be a part of the world he loved, so he would find a new world to live in and enjoy for the rest of his life, however long that may be, minutes, days, years or decades.

But he still missed Chris.

*****

My empty dreams are interrupted once more by that little white speck that it takes me a moment to remember.

But I do remember it, and approach willingly, wanting to see them again. The statues are still there, frozen in time, while the same music plays on, but their places have changed.

The one with the silver-green eyes, is now standing on a black square at the corner of the board, half turned away from the others who remain in the centre.

The grey-eyed man is still in his square, though his back is now turned against the other three.

The woman has moved to the white square in the middle and faces the grey eyed man. She is the only one whose posture is changed; her right hand is over, though not touching the grey-eyed man's shoulder.

The steely older man remains unchanged, imposing over them all.

I feel the need to be a part of them, a need to interact with them.

'One of us is dying...'

I approach the one standing by himself, and find his mask, colder than ever before, though his eyes are now filled with sorrow and loss. I reach out my hand, surprised that I still have it, and touch his face. Expecting to feel warm flesh, I am startled to find a barely felt softness as he crumbles into dust. Looking down, I see the dust blown away by a wind I cannot feel.

'One of us is lonely...'

Dismayed I approach the other three once more. The grey-eyed man has lost his thin veil only to have a mask in place as cold and empty as the silver-eyed man. When I reach out to touch him, he falls to the side, away from me, and shatters into a million pieces as he hits the floor. The tiny pieces melt into the floor as if they had never been.

'One of us is trying...'

I touch the girl, her upraised hand, and she starts to glow brightly, but even before my eyes, she slowly fades away leaving an empty space where she had been.

'One of us is lying...'

I have to touch the imposing man, to find out what will happen to him, and I do. At first nothing seems to happen, but slowly I realise that he has turned harder, both inside and outside. His skin slowly turns grey, and he is the only one who will stand forever, a solid steel statue.

'One of us is only...

Waiting for a call'

I rise away from the board and leave it to turn silently in space with its sole occupant and run away to my soft, claustrophobic darkness. The unfairness beats at me, and I want to scream and cry, but am unable to.

A voice calls to me as if from a great distance, and I remember the person it belongs to. With determination and resolve, I begin the long walk back to the light; where my mother tells me she is waiting.

The End


End file.
